


a letter

by secretlymartinfreeman



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3519770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretlymartinfreeman/pseuds/secretlymartinfreeman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire slunk into homeroom and brushed by Enjolras' desk. Enjolras was so caught up in the blank, dejected stare in the boy's face that he almost didn't notice the crumpled piece of paper dropped on his desk. He frowned at the note in confusion - they usually communicated in text; handwritten notes were almost unheard of this day and age - but didn't have a chance to confront him before the teacher began the lesson. Enjolras stole a glance at the first line.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"my dear, beloved enjolras. . ."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	a letter

my dear, beloved enjolras,

i love you.

i'm so sorry. about everything. i don't know what to do. my whole life is falling apart.

my mum talked to monsieur valjean, the only person i thought i could trust. what a fucking laugh, huh? serves me right for being an idiot.

anyway, it was disastrous. she locked me in my room for a few hours. she said she "couldn't stand to look at me anymore."

how fucking ironic. i can't even stand to look at me, either. at least we're on the same page.

so, yeah. when she was finally done shutting me up, she, uh. brought me into the living room. where my dad was waiting. and we had a talk. 

well, a "talk." it was mostly them, and there wasn't much talking. now, yelling; crying. those were involved.

and then they locked me in my room again after they finally realised that i'd gone unresponsive. that was fun.

so that's why i wasn't at school yesterday. and they've been tracking my messages, so i couldn't text you back, either. much as that killed me.

(it fucking killed me, l'ange, i swear to god.)

i don't know what i'm going to do. if i want to actually transition at some point, i'll have to leave.

sometimes i still think that this is fucking stupid, shut up, R, you're a fucking girl. don't try to be a special snowflake. don't you know the difference between a tomboy and an actual boy? an actual boy has a dick. you're just a stupid, piece of shit wannabe, and you always will be.

and sometimes, well. . .

ugh fuck my life.

i might run away, drop out of school. hitchhike across the country. i would never want to leave you, angel, but that's all i could go through with. at least this way i'd be okay, just somewhere else. where they can't hurt me.

i don't know. i don't know. i'm a fucking wreck. i don't know which way is up. my only way out is to chew off my fucking leg. i'm a dog in a trap. just as worthless, too.

this is all i can do. i have to leave. i'm going to leave. i think i've made up my mind, mostly. please don't try to change it.

je t'aime pour l'éternitée, l'ange.

-grantaire

**Author's Note:**

> By the time Enjolras had been able to finish the note without the teacher's knowledge, class was over. He looked up towards Grantaire's desk on the other side of the classroom, but the boy had already gone. He didn't see him again for the rest of the day.


End file.
